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Dykescapes I

By: Katherine-T



They lie in the sun together on a beach in Cannes, close enough to the sea so that the water rhythmically laps at their toes. They are both nude above the waist, having removed the tops of their swimsuits as soon as they arrived. It's early morning and hardly anyone is on the sand, the beach deserted under a pale blue sky, the summer heat not yet evident. They lie on their sides facing each other, gazing at each other, their eyes locked in the customary way of lovers who lock their eyes together to confirm their love.

The older one is the larger woman, large breasts and round hips, a full-curved body she finds unaesthetic even if her lover says she finds it appealing. The older one has gray in her dark hair, gray at the temples, gray eyes and a firm face. The younger one is a blonde, a long slender body with small breasts and hardly any hips. The younger one has long thighs and legs and feet that can excite the older one clothed or unclothed, on a street or in a room, anywhere at all, but always when they recline together like this, facing each other, their knees barely touching, their two bodies parallel, their breasts almost kissing.

At noon, they don their beach robes and leave the beach to return to their room in the hotel. Their bodies are still warm, the smell of the sea still fresh in their hair. Once inside their room, the older one locks the door and moves to the younger one to take her in her arms and kiss her. Their mouths fuse, the older one's mouth sucking in the lips of the other. The younger woman's red lipstick is now smeared, and when their lips part, the older woman licks around the mouth of the younger woman to clean the smeared lipstick away. Now the younger woman's face is wet from the kissing and licking, the moisture glistening on her skin. The older woman strokes her lover's face with her fingertips, a slow stroking along her temple and down her cheek to her chin.

"I adore you," the older woman says. "Are you happy here?"

The younger woman's cheeks are flushed. "Oh, Annie, you know I am."

"Should we go out to lunch somewhere or have it on the beach?"

"I don't care. Whatever you want."

"All right, we'll go somewhere. You can wear that little yellow dress we bought for you in Paris."

The younger woman smiles. "Yes!" Then she adds: "I need to pee, I'll be right back."

The older woman watches her as she hurries away. Annie loves her. She tells herself that she loves Beth with all her soul. Beth is the woman she has always wanted. Here in Europe they can enjoy each other in a way impossible at home. At home they live apart, two separate lives, brief meetings in the afternoon or evening, but never the intimacy they now have.

Annie sits down on the bed and closes her eyes. Her dream is to have Beth with her always, she and Beth living together as a couple, their bond revealed to the world.

When Beth returns, Annie beckons to her and the younger woman approaches to stand in front of Annie and look down at her with bright eyes. Annie glances at the door to remind herself that it's locked, then she slides her hands under Beth's robe, up along the backs of Beth's thighs to cup her buttocks through her bikini. Beth closes her eyes and murmurs as Annie's hands fondle her. The room is silent, warm, not even a breeze from the open window that looks out on the sea. The afternoon promises to be as lovely today as it was yesterday.

Her fingers tugging at Beth's bikini, Annie pulls the little garment down Beth's thighs and legs and then off Beth's feet. Then Annie's hands rise under the robe again, sliding upwards to once more cover Beth's buttocks with her palms, stroking Beth's skin, over the compact globes and then into the groove between them. Then her right hand slides around to Beth's front and then underneath to reach back and stroke Beth's buttocks again. With a sigh of contentment, Annie rests her forehead against Beth's belly as her middle fingertip finds Beth's anus and gently penetrates it, just the opening first with the tip of her finger, then after a while half her finger inside the warm passage.

Beth closes her eyes. Now the sounds of the seagulls can be heard, the squawks of the birds floating into the room as Annie turns her head to lie her cheek against Beth's robe. Beth shifts her feet on the carpet, widening her legs a bit as Annie's finger continues to probe her body. Annie responds by pushing the finger more deeply inside the opening, pushing deep until Beth groans.

Annie pulls her head back and she looks up at Beth's face as she gently turns her finger in Beth's ass. "Am I hurting you, love?"

Her eyes still closed, Beth shakes her head. "No, not at all."

When Annie tugs at Beth's robe, Beth understands what Beth wants and she slips off the robe and tosses it onto the bed. Beth is now naked, her face flushed, her legs apart, her back arched, her eyes closed again as Annie's finger moves slowly in her ass.

Annie now has her eyes on Beth's pubis, the small patch of blonde hair on the mons, the lips below hairless, the top of the slit visible. With her finger still inside Beth's ass, she tilts her palm upward and presses it against Beth's sex to feel its wetness. Then she finds the opening of the cunt with her thumb and she pushes her thumb inside it until the last knuckle of her thumb is pressed against the mouth of Beth's vagina.

"Do it," Annie says. "Do it while I work you. I want you to come."

A soft moan escapes Beth's lips as she slides her right hand down over her belly to find her clitoris. Using two fingers, she starts a circular rubbing of her clitoris as Annie's fingers move slowly in her cunt and ass.

The seagulls are quiet again. A small white cloud has appeared from nowhere to drift near the horizon. The faint wail of a police klaxon dies out somewhere in the city. Beth tilts her head up and opens her mouth as the orgasm arrives.

     *  *  *

They have lunch on the terrace of a café near the Hotel Majestic. Annie is always proud to be in public with Beth, happy to show the world the beauty of her lover, the admiration in her lover's eyes.

Beth wears a yellow summer dress, her lovely shoulders and arms bare, her eyes still bright with the pleasures she experienced earlier. Annie tells herself she adores this young woman. She adores Beth's face and body now tinted beige by the sun. She adores Beth's poetic nature, the musings revealed to her when they enjoy the arts together. In only three months they have become passionate lovers, and during this time in Europe their love has deepened immensely. Annie is happy. She feels so warm toward Beth, so loving, wanting her at every moment, always gazing at her with a mixture of lust and love that makes each hour an adventure.

Now Annie shifts her body in her chair and says, ""I have a proposal."

Beth looks at her. "A proposal?"

"Yes, dear, a proposal. I want you to move in with me when we return home. My place is certainly large enough for the two of us. I want us to be together always."

Beth smiles. "A marriage proposal?"

"If you want to see it that way. I suppose we could do that also. But the most important thing is that we be together. Will you do it, sweetie?"

Beth hesitates. She looks away, gazes at a couple at another table, a young man and young woman holding hands as they talk. Then she turns to Annie again.

"I don't know," Beth says. "I've never lived with anyone and I don't think I'd like it. Annie, everything is so fine the way it is, why can't we just keep it that way?"

Annie tries to hide her disappointment by squirming in her chair, changing the angle of her body, moving her hands on the table. She feels a sudden weakness in her legs, a tightness in her chest. Then she stops fidgeting and she remains immobile, motionless. Beth watches her. They watch each other. Again, Annie tells herself that she's hopelessly in love with the girl. She gazes at Beth's face, at the beauty of her lightly rouged lips.

"Let's go back to the hotel," Annie says. "We'll rest awhile, and then we'll go shopping on the boulevard. Would you like that, darling?"

Beth smiles and looks happy. "Oh yes. You know how much I love shopping."

     *  *  *

Inside their hotel room, neither of them are thinking about shopping on the boulevard. Certainly not Annie. She's kneeling before Beth, who sits naked in one of the easy chairs near the window with her legs over the arms, her thighs spread wide to show her sex, her palms on her belly with her fingertips just touching her labia. Annie slowly runs her hands over Beth's smooth legs and down the insides of her thighs to her groin. Their hands meet, their eyes meet, and then Beth pulls her hands away from her belly to leave the field to Annie.

With a gentle tug at Beth's waist, Annie urges her to slide forward on the seat of the chair and then pull her knees even further back. Now Beth is completely exposed, everything visible, her thighs flexed, her legs dangling over the arms of the chair, a faint blush on her face.

Annie is still disappointed by Beth's refusal to live with her, but the joy of having Beth like this pushes her disappointment into a corner of her mind. She loves doing it this way, having a lover spread out like this, a feast waiting for her. She remembers so many women on chairs like this, so many cunts waiting for her mouth. She always loves it. Good lord, you're a lech, Annie thinks.

She leans forward to sniff at Beth first, to get her scent again, to get the musk of Beth's sex in her nose. She's thankful Beth hasn't yet washed away the hours since the morning, the mixture of natural scents and faint perfume that makes a cunt so alluring to her. Annie sniffs at the top of Beth's sex and then lower down, her nose barely touching the younger woman's body. Beth's cunt is wet, the lips gaping. Her clitoris remains covered by its hood, but the flesh around it looks engorged. Annie is always thrilled to see a lover's cunt swollen with desire.

Finally, Annie starts licking her, the insides of her thighs first, wet licking near Beth's sex, then lightly over the outer lips, then down again, lower down to the perineum, then over the little knot of the anus, then back again to the slit of Beth's cunt and up to the hood of her clitoris, all with her tongue alternately licking and fluttering like a butterfly against Beth's flesh.

Then Annie moves her face in, presses her mouth against the cunt, a light grazing at first, then more pressure, grinding a bit, then sucking all of the cunt into her mouth, the flaps of Beth's labia sucked between her teeth, her tongue extending to scour the opening of Beth's vagina. Annie's nose is now pressed against Beth's clitoris as she moves her face in all directions, her nose rubbing the clitoris, massaging the bud in its hood. Then down to the vaginal opening again, her mouth on it, her tongue scooping the fluids, mixing Beth's juices with her own saliva, sucking and swallowing, sucking and swallowing.

Now Annie's nose slides inside the mouth of Beth's vagina to get the full scent of her cunt, Annie's face rotating so that her nose widens the opening, pushes in, pulls out, pushes in again. And while her nose does this, her tongue extends its full length to reach down to flutter against Beth's anus, slide over it, tickle it, the tip of her tongue sensing the ring of the sphincter, caressing it, tapping against it.

When Beth groans and pulls at Annie's hair, Annie withdraws her nose from Beth's vagina and she rubs the wet tip of her nose against Beth's clitoris, against the hood, pushing the hood back with her nose to expose the little nub. Annie finally sucks the protuberance of swollen flesh into her mouth, fastening her lips on it and tugging at it as she presses her mouth more forcefully into Beth's crotch and vigorously shakes her face to bring Beth to orgasm.

As Beth cries out, her thighs trembling, Annie keeps her mouth locked on Beth's sex, her lips sucking hard at Beth's clitoris, two fingers now sliding into Beth's pulsing vagina to feel Beth's contractions. Finally, as Beth's spasms lessen, Annie moves her tongue to Beth's urethra, probes it to get some of the brine that has come to the opening during Beth's climax. She sucks at it, adds it to the mix already in her mouth, and then she kisses Beth's sex one last time before pulling her face away from Beth's thighs.

Annie looks at the younger woman, at the slender body, the legs up, the cunt still dripping. You're an old dyke, Annie thinks. Never mind living together, settle for the feast. She leans forward and kisses Beth's knee.

End

Dykescapes II



Sandra had a fear that somehow everyone she knew would learn about her, that she would suddenly find herself alone on a stage with a spotlight on her, the audience consisting of friends, family, acquaintances, all staring at her and whispering about her, even smirking at her, since she knew people who would smirk with contempt if they learned she was a lesbian.

Was she a lesbian? She didn't know. A week ago she'd had her first experience with a woman and she was still too confused about it to understand what it meant. All she knew was that she'd enjoyed it, enjoyed it more than anything that had ever happed between her and her husband of twenty years, who had turned out to be so dull and inconsequential she thought every moment they were together a total waste of time.

She had certainly enjoyed sex with Marty, a woman she had met only recently, a woman she hardly knew, but who had swept Sandra off her feet with an intense seduction that had Sandra undressed in Marty's apartment before Sandra fully realized what was happening. Bingo. A few glasses of wine, a few surprising kisses, the clothes are off and she's in bed with another woman. What she never expected was that she would like it so much. And she hadn't just liked it, she had truly adored it.

So was she a dyke? She hated that word. Maybe Marty was a dyke, but not her. Marty, after all, had taken the lead and done everything. Sandra hadn't done much except lie back and let Marty make love to her, suck her down there until Sandra flew to the moon and back several times, suck her so well Sandra's eyes were glazed by the time she went home.

And now she was afraid. She had agreed to see Marty again this very evening, but as she dressed for the date she felt a sudden fear in her chest. What would happen if the people she knew found out? What would happen if her husband found out? He'd probably want a divorce, but she couldn't care less about that, she was now earning enough selling real estate to be rid of him. But if Bert found out, he would certainly tell everyone he knew, which meant nearly everyone she knew, including everyone in his family and her family. She felt she would pass out even thinking about it. But she couldn't pass out now, she had to get her makeup on, had to finish dressing.

Dressing for a lover. Sexy underthings, high heels, a flashy little dress. She had told Bert she was going to dinner with another woman in real estate, someone in upscale real estate who could be useful to her. A total lie, of course, but Bert was too stupid to know the difference, and anyway this was Monday and Bert would have his eyes glued to the television screen and twenty-two Neanderthals running around on a football field.

As she finished painting her lips, Sandra wondered if Marty would like her underwear. Then she told herself that if she kept thinking about Marty like that, she'd have soaked panties before she ever left the house.

Twenty minutes later she said goodbye to Bert, told him she hoped he'd enjoy his football evening, and said he shouldn't worry at all if she was late getting back. "This woman and I will probably have a lot to talk about," Sandra said. She waved at Bert and hurried out the front door to the taxi now waiting for her at the curb.

* * *

She arrived a few minutes early at the restaurant where she'd agreed to meet Marty. She thought of having a drink at the bar, but she hated sitting alone at a bar, so instead she sat on of the chairs near the restaurant entrance. Marty arrived just as Sandra was about to look at her watch, which made Sandra happy because it meant Marty was considerate enough to be punctual.

Sandra thought Marty was a beauty. Marty was six years younger, tall, lean, cropped reddish brown hair that gave her a boyish look, and a superb attractive face. It was Marty's beauty that had made it so easy for Sandra to be seduced. How could she not be dazzled by this lovely woman, so confident in the way she moved and talked and looked? And now they were together again and Sandra was just as dazzled as she'd been the first time. Nothing existed for her except the promise of this evening with Marty.

After greeting each other warmly, Marty kissing Sandra's cheek, they were led to a quiet settee and table in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant.

"Perfect," Marty said. "We can sit next to each other and whisper about everyone around us." She gestured to Sandra to slide onto the curved settee first, and then she followed to sit on Sandra's left, sliding in until they sat close enough to each other to have their knees touch if one or the other moved.

Sandra felt a keen excitement. This was a date, no doubt about that, and she anticipated a sizzling evening.

They ordered their dinners and a bottle of white wine, and after the waiter left, Marty said, "I'm glad you came earlier than I did. I had the pleasure of walking in and seeing you there waiting for me. You look stunning, you know. You're special."

Sandra felt herself blushing. She thought how extraordinary it was to be with another woman on a date like this, to know that after the dinner they would go to Marty's apartment and almost certainly make love. Thinking about that made Sandra quiver with excitement.

They sat so close, that when one turned to say something to the other they could easily kiss. Sandra could smell Marty's scent and it made her dizzy with a yearning to actually kiss Marty's lips and taste her lipstick.

She held herself back. You're going off the deep end, Sandra thought. She hadn't realized how hungry she was for physical contact with this woman. Or maybe she had realized it and had suppressed it. Whatever it might be, here she was sitting beside Marty and wetting her pants before they even had dinner. Then she wondered how it would go. She certainly couldn't take the lead, it had to be Marty. Marty had taken the lead last time and that had to happen again.

"I love your hair," Marty said in a low voice.

"My hair?"

"Yes, your hair. It looks wonderful curled around your face like that." Marty chuckled. "You know, the first time I saw you I thought you were too pretty to be approachable and that you'd be a self-centered bitch I could never get to know. How wrong I was!" She laughed again, then leaned over and whispered in Sandra's ear. "You're sweet. You really turn me on. YOu enjoyed the time we had last week, didn't you? Yes you did, I could tell. I'm thinking about it now and it's making me hot."

Sandra blushed, glancing around at the other tables to see if anyone was looking at them. Then she gazed at Marty. The younger woman wore a white silk blouse and black jeans. Sandra thought Marty looked wonderfully sexy. She wondered how long she could sit beside Marty without revealing how eager she was. This restaurant seemed so romantic. So many years had passed since she'd had a romantic evening like this. She and Marty were so different; she had an oval face, while Marty had an angular face with high cheekbones. She thought Marty would look elegant wearing anything, any possible style. Wasn't that the test of true beauty? Sandra fidgeted on her seat, hoping the dinner would pass quickly.

Suddenly, after the main course arrived and the waiter was gone, Sandra felt Marty's hand on her left thigh. She froze, nervous that someone might see them. She felt Marty's fingers dig into her thigh. Then Marty moved her hand toward Sandra's knee, slid the hem of her skirt back and stroked her stocking.

"What are you wearing?" Marty whispered. "Pantyhose?"

"Stockings."

"Oh, that's hot. I love stockings. I love your legs."

Sandra was thankful when Marty finally pulled her hand away. Sandra was now certain her panties were soaked. How could they not be? She hadn't been so excited in ages.

Marty kept whispering to Sandra, flirting with her, saying amusing things to make Sandra laugh. Sandra felt an intense yearning that made her tremble.

When they were finished eating, Sandra almost cried out when she felt Marty's hand slide under her upper left arm to touch the side of her breast.

"Marty, please..."

"You're nervous."

"Yes, of course. We're in a restaurant."

"Come to the ladies room with me before the waiter brings dessert."

"Only if you promise to behave."

Marty laughed. "I promise."

They left the table together, and when they reached the ladies room, Sandra was thankful it was empty. Once the door was closed, Marty said, "Let me see."

"See what?"

"Lift your skirt, silly. Let me see what you're wearing."

Sandra felt so naughty lifting her skirt like that to show Marty what she had on underneath. She hadn't done anything so wild since high school. She could see herself in the mirror, her skirt raised, her thighs white above the tops of the dark stockings, Marty gazing at her legs with bright eyes.

"Lovely," Marty said. "All right, let's have dessert, pay the check, and get the hell out of here."

* * *

They drove in a taxi to Marty's apartment. This was the second time Sandra had been in Marty's flat, and she felt more at ease than a week ago. As soon as they were inside the door, Marty took Sandra in her arms and kissed her. Marty was much taller, even in her flat shoes, and Sandra felt like a young girl on a date as she lifted her face to be kissed.

Sandra was thrilled. Marty might look like a boy, but her lips tasted like a woman's lips, sweet and wonderful.

When the kiss broke, Marty smiled. "You know I usually avoid married women."

"You do? Why?"

"Because they almost always mean trouble. They can break your heart."

"Oh Marty."

"Are you going to break my heart?"

"You know I won't."

"We'll see."

Marty kissed her again, and this time she ran her hands over Sandra's back and down to her ass, lifted Sandra's skirt and slid her hands inside the panties to cup Sandra's bare buttocks.

Sandra groaned into Marty's mouth as she felt the hands clutching her cheeks.

Marty said, "Do you want a drink? Some wine?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Undress for me?"

"Undress for you?"

"Yes, in the living room. Let me watch you undress. You hardly had any clothes off last time."

Yes, it was true. The last time they were together Sandra hadn't had anything off except her pantyhose and panties, and Marty had gone down on her like that until Sandra couldn't take any more. And then when Sandra had insisted on going home, Marty had seemed unhappy about it.

Now Marty kissed her again. "So how about it? Will you undress for me?"

Sandra felt a sudden excitement. She nodded. Yes, she would do it. Now was not the time for propriety. What had propriety ever brought her except a clod of a husband and a dull life? She turned and walked into the living room ahead of Marty and she started removing her clothes. She would not do a strip, she had no talent for that. She would merely remove her clothes piece by piece and hope Marty would find it arousing. The felt an intense excitement at the idea of removing her clothes for a lover.

She faced Marty as the younger woman sat down in an easy chair to watch her.

"Go on," Marty said. "Unwrap the package for me."

Sandra had her arms folded across her breasts, each hand on the opposite shoulder, her arms folded as if protecting herself. She looked at Marty and tried to read the expression on the younger woman's face. Marty had such lovely full lips. She was so beautiful.

Sandra dropped her hands and found the zipper of her dress. What a delight it was to do this. She couldn't remember the last time Bert had watched her undress. But she was nervous. She wasn't twenty=two, she was forty-two. And she knew where it showed. Her breasts drooped, but maybe not too much; her belly had a definite little bulge; she certainly had added inches on her hips. She might look a few years younger than her age, but not much, she thought. She looked suburban, a soccer mom, and of course she did have two children thankfully away at college. You're an idiot, she thought suddenly; what was she doing here taking off her clothes in front of another woman?

But when she glanced at Marty and saw the hot desire in Marty's eyes, it kindled her own excitement and she continued undressing.

The little dress was off. Did Marty like her underwear? She knew her breasts looked good in the lace bra. She already knew that Marty had a thing about stockings and heels. She suddenly realized how erotic it was to turn on a woman like this.

"Oh, baby, you're hot," Marty said. "You really get to me."

Sandra shivered with pleasure when she glanced at Marty and saw that Marty had her hand in the crotch of her jeans, rubbing herself with her hand as she watched Sandra.

Sandra wondered how many women Marty had watched undress like this. Probably dozens. Maybe more than dozens. She knew hardly anything about Marty's world. What did she know about such things?

Having unhooked her bra, she dropped it away from her breasts and managed to toss it onto the top of her dress with a little flourish she worried might be silly. But when she looked at Marty and saw the admiration in Marty's eyes, she felt better, understood that her body was attractive enough for Marty. Unwilling to chance looking awkward, she quickly slipped her minuscule panties down and off her legs and tossed them on top of her bra.

"Enough," Marty said, her voice almost a growl. "Just stay like that and come over here."

Sandra realized she enjoyed Marty's dominant attitude, making decisions for them, taking the lead, telling her what to do. She had always wanted that in a lover and had never had enough of it, certainly not from Bert, who after the first years of marriage had gradually transformed into a lump who did nothing but watch the sports channels and grumble about how liberals were ruining the country.

When she walked over to Marty wearing nothing but high heels and stockings, she could feel her juices dripping down the insides of her thighs.

"You did it," Marty said as she ran her hands over Sandra's thighs. "You undressed for me." She kissed Sandra's belly, a series of little kisses between Sandra's navel and her trimmed bush of dark pubic hair. She put her nose into the bush and seemed to be sniffing it.

Sandra gazed down at the top of Marty's head, at Marty's cropped hair, and she thought it could be boy down there kissing her belly and sniffing at her. But of course it wasn't a boy, it was a woman.

Then Marty's hands slid up Sandra's torso to take hold of Sandra's breasts. "I like these," Marty said, pushing the breasts upward, then gently pinching the stiff nipples. "I wanted to get at them last week, but you wouldn't let me undress you."

Sandra quivered as the felt the wetness between her thighs. Now Marty's hands were at her waist, urging her to turn around, and when she did so, she heard Marty's murmur of approval. She could feel Marty's hands on her buttocks, a gentle squeezing and fondling that brought a shiver up Sandra's spine.

"You're lovely," Marty said in a husky voice, turning Sandra's body so that Sandra faced her again. Marty chuckled. "I know places where butches will climb on tables to get a look at a femme like you dressed like this. "You're delectable."

"Marty?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Could we go to bed now?"

Marty laughed and rose up, her hands covering Sandra's trembling breasts again, her fingers gently twisting Sandra's tumescent nipples. She turned Sandra and led Sandra to the bedroom with her hand stroking Sandra's ass.

* * *

When Sandra returned home that night, she could barely walk. Marty had made love to her for hours, sucking her and then fucking her with a dildo that looked just like a cock jutting out of Marty's crotch. Marty had taken her in every position imaginable. Marty had even wanted to fuck Sandra in the ass, but Sandra had never had that, and she'd pleaded with Marty to be patient with her and wait for another time. And another time there would certainly be. Sandra knew what she had to do with her life now; it was all too clear to her. Her children would understand. They were grown, and they would understand that she had a right to be happy, and that if being happy meant she had to dump Bert, that was what she needed to do.

In the bedroom, as she slipped into a nightgown in the dark, Bert rolled over in bed and spoke in a sleepy voice:

"How did the real estate go?"

"Oh, the real estate went fine," Sandra said. "I can learn a lot from that woman, and I think she's going to teach me a few things." 



Dykescapes III



"Everything is arranged," Veronica says.

She sits down at our table, sips her coffee, smiles at me.

I'm uneasy. It's a hot idea, but I'm really not that adventurous. No, this idea isn't just hot, it's wild. Crazy wild.

"Veronica, are you sure about this?"

"I thought we agreed. You're not backing out, are you?"

"No."

"Good. It's all set up. They have the room number and they said she'll be there at nine sharp. Her name is Maria."

Last week the idea seemed like a marvelous lark. We would have an "escort" service send a girl to us in a hotel. A few wild hours to celebrate the beginning of our third year together. Everyone says the average lesbian relationship lasts two years, but we're starting our third. Veronica thought of a way to celebrate, and last week the idea did excite me.

But now I don't know. Yes, I do know -- I'm still excited, but I'm uncertain about it. Uncertain about what? I don't really know. Anyway, it's too late, the arrangements have been made. I agreed, didn't I?

Veronica and I leave the restaurant and walk the two blocks to the hotel where we've reserved a room. I'm sorry about the hotel now, because I think I'd be more comfortable in our apartment. But Veronica insisted on the hotel room. She never likes strangers coming to our place. Silly, isn't it? I wouldn't mind it at home at all.

It's a good hotel, not cheap. Veronica never likes anything cheap. We ride the elevator to the sixteenth floor, and once we're inside the large luxuriously appointed room I feel much better.

Veronica kisses my lips lightly, her fingers pinching one of my nipples through my blouse. "Why don't the two of us stay the night here afterwards? We'll have room service bring us breakfast in bed."

I tell her I'd love it. What a marvelous idea!

Precisely at nine o'clock, someone knocks on the door. Veronica goes to the door, opens it, and a tall brunette walks in smiling at us.

"Hi, I'm Maria. I'm not late, am I?"

She's stunning, maybe twenty-five, long dark hair, dark eyes, a willowy figure in a tight red dress, sheer dark hose and strap sandals with stiletto heels.

Now it's Veronica who is not so confident. Maria is more than we expected. Much more. I actually thought we might have a bubble-gum chewing bimbo on our hands, but this is something else.

Veronica introduces us. Maria smiles, looks at us warmly. "If you have something to drink, I'd love it."

"Scotch? There should be some in that little bar."

"That's fine." She puts her purse down on the dresser, and she walks to the window to look at the lights of the city. "Nice view, isn't it?"

The view I'm looking at is nice also. What I'm looking at is her round ass. Her dress is so tight the curve of each cheek is visible. Her legs are lovely too, with full calves and slender ankles.

Veronica brings each of us a drink, and then she returns with her own.

Maria lifts her glass and says: "I can see you're both nervous. But just relax and we'll have a great time."

Veronica has recovered some of her poise. "Do you often get two...?

"Two women?"

"Yes."

Maria laughs. "Not as often as I'd like. But it happens once in a while, and I think tonight will be one of the better times because I already like both of you. Really."

I wonder if she's merely saying that. It's for money, isn't it? But she seems honest; she has an open honest face and I believe she does like us. That's crazy, isn't it? We've bought her time, and yet I still want her to like us.

Maria asks permission to switch on the radio, and she finds a soft rock station that mellows the mood quickly.

Maria says: "Do you have anything particular in mind, or would you like me to start things?"

Veronica looks at me and we agree with our eyes. "There's nothing particular," Veronica says.

Maria gives us a pretty smile. "All right, why don't you both sit and I'll do a strip for you and we'll see how it goes."

Veronica and I sit down in the two easy chairs. The ice is shaking in my glass. I'm nervous again, but now it's because my excitement is so intense. Yes, I want to watch her strip. I want to see what she has under that tight red dress.

The beat of the music is heavy and sexual. She's adept, graceful, her hips swaying just enough to make her movements totally erotic. The dress has a hidden zipper that runs completely down her right side, and she pulls at it slowly, slowly, opening her covering, peeling herself open, emerging like some ripe tropical fruit from its outer skin. When the zipper is down to her thigh, she pushes the dress off each shoulder and she wiggles it down, drops it to the carpet and steps out of it.

Veronica glances at me, a smile hovering at her lips. She's excited; I can see it in her eyes.

Maria is a hot dream. She wears a red lace bra that pushes up her full breasts, a red g-string, a thin red garter belt to hold up her dark hose. She smiles and deliberately turns to show us the rear view, and my excitement intensifies because I like asses and this one is exquisite. Her ass is totally exposed because the thong of the g-string is tight between the full round cheeks, tight in the dark deep split.

While she still has her back to us, she unhooks the bra and removes it, tosses it away, then slowly turns to face us again with her hands lifting her breasts and holding them out to us like two melons. The areolas are wide and brown, the nipples thick and mouth watering.

She moves toward us, her body swaying, moving close enough so that I can see the sheen of sweat near her dimpled navel. Veronica is on her left and I'm on her right. She comes to me first, dangling her breasts over my face, her body swaying, tantalizing me. Then she moves to Veronica and she does the same. Her body is a lovely arrangement of lush curves, her legs exquisite in the dark hose.

Stopping half way between our two chairs, supporting her breasts with her hands, she leans forward a bit. "Someone be nice to me and suck one of these."

Again, Veronica glances at me, and I say: "Go on, Veronica."

Maria immediately moves to Veronica to offer her breasts. Veronica lifts her face, opens her mouth, and Maria makes a sound of pleasure as she feeds one of her thick nipples to Veronica's lips.

My body is tight with sexual tension. I want to touch myself, but I hold back. The scene amazes me: the two of us, Veronica and I, still fully dressed, while this dark-haired beauty entertains us.

Entertaining Veronica. Veronica is holding the breast herself now, holding the breast with one hand while the other hand fondles the other breast. Veronica sucks at the nipple, pulls back, licks it, sucks it again. Then she moves her mouth to the other breast and she does the same.

Maria groans. "Oh baby, I like it." Her nipples are swollen, puffed out, more reddish than before.

Veronica finally pulls away for good, licking her lips, Maria's breast wet with her saliva. "Her turn now," Veronica says, gesturing in my direction.

Maria smiles at me as she approaches my chair. She moves in close to hang her luscious breasts over my face. I can smell her perfume, her sweat, a hint of her sex. I run my hands over her hips and up to her breasts, and I gently tug at them to get one of her nipples in my mouth.

She murmurs something. I don't hear it. All I care about is the sweet-tasting nipple in my mouth. I suck all of the areola, then just the nipple. I pull at it with my lips and teeth. Then I move to the other breast, licking and sucking the nipple, nibbling at it until it swells even further.

She pulls away when I release her. "I'm hot," she says. "I like both of you. Both of you turn me on."

Her body moving again to the music, she smiles at us as she slowly unties the g-string, tugs the ends, teases us by keeping it in place. Finally, she tugs it free of her body and she sends it sailing across the room to land in my lap.

I've lost all reserve. I lift the g-string to my nose and I sniff it. The mixture of perfume and pussy scent is heavenly.

Maria has a hand between her legs, lightly rubbing herself. All she has on now is the garter belt and hose and high heels. She's like a Penthouse centerfold, but more exotic, and certainly more real. She has a thick dark bush trimmed into a neat triangle. Now she opens herself, her fingers peeling her labia apart, teasing us by showing her clit and then covering it again.

I want to look at it. I want to look at everything. Does she see it in my eyes?

She approaches me, her hands stroking her belly. She slides her legs apart and says: "I need a finger inside. Won't you do it?"

Won't I? My hand slides between her warm thighs to touch her pussy. The lips are thick, wet, easily parted. I penetrate her with only my middle finger, all the way to my knuckle, my finger wriggling in the wet, feeling the heat.

She wriggles her hips as I wriggle my finger in her pussy.

She laughs and pulls away, moves to Veronica and offers herself. "There's lots of juice," Maria says.

I have some of it on my finger, and as Veronica's hand probes between Maria's legs, I lift my finger to my mouth and taste Maria's pussy.

Maria glances at me, catches me licking my finger, and she beams at me. "Do I taste good?"

"Yes."

She looks down at Veronica. "What do you think? Go on, taste me."

Veronica pulls her finger out and licks it clean. "Sweet and hot."

Maria laughs. "Let's get on the bed now. Both of you can suck me off. Or I can do the two of you first. Whatever you want. I'm here to please both of you. But first both of you ought to be naked. Don't you want to get undressed?"

Maria watches us as we undress. It seems ridiculous that we're paying for this and taking orders from her, but she knows what she's doing. I wouldn't know what to say or do, and Veronica seems to have lost her usual competence. In this situation, we're both amateurs. Hah.

When Veronica and I are naked, all three of us get on the bed. Hands are everywhere, six hands and arms moving and sliding like the tentacles of an octopus. I stroke Maria's thighs and legs and belly. I stroke her nylon-covered calves and ankles. Her body is so firm. I get my fingers in her generous bush. Veronica's hand meets mine, our fingers tangling in Maria's wiry pussy hair. Maria laughs. She lifts and opens her legs to let us have a closer look at her pussy. I don't refuse. I bend over to see the details. Her cunt is lovely, long flowery petals and a thick clitoris, the color of her sex more red than pink, except for the outer folds that are brown. The opening shows her cream, a film of white glistening wetness. Veronica's head is near mine as she too looks at Maria.

Veronica is the first to suck Maria. She leans over with her hips near Maria's head, her face sliding between Maria's thighs, her mouth clamping on Maria's pussy.

Watching Veronica suck another woman gives me a strange feeling. When she's doing it to me, I'm usually too preoccupied to notice anything. Now I notice everything. Her blonde hair in disarray. Her flushed face. The wetness on her lips when she lifts her face to flap just the tip of her tongue against Maria's fat clitoris. Maria is groaning. With her fingers, she pulls at the hood of her clit to get the head out. She mutters something in Spanish. She locks her thighs around Veronica's head and they roll over to lie on their sides with Maria's face buried between Veronica's thighs.

What I have now facing me is Maria's ass. I touch it. I run my hands over the contours. Stretching out behind Maria, I push my face between her thighs to get at her pussy from the rear. I meet Veronica and we kiss. I can taste Maria on Veronica's lips. I dip down to lick only briefly at Maria's cunt, and then I slide back to work my tongue in the groove of Maria's ass.

Maria shudders as she feels my tongue. "Let me up, I know a better way."

She gets Veronica on her back. Then Maria climbs over Veronica and straddles her, her pussy over Veronica's face. As I sit at the foot of the bed, Maria looks over her shoulder at me, licking her lips, smiling in invitation. Nothing is disguised. I'm to have Maria's ass.

For a while I watch Veronica. My lover. Maria has her knees wide apart, her pussy hunched down on Veronica's face, her hips rolling slowly, her throat making noises of pleasure as she feels Veronica's tongue everywhere.

Finally I move in, crouching behind Maria's ass, bending to slide my face over it. My heart pounds as I work my tongue into the groove and around her anus. Before long I abandon myself, nuzzling between the cheeks, licking her, pushing my tongue inside, doing to her things I never dare do to Veronica.

I find my clit with my fingers and I rub it as I lose myself in Maria's ass. I come hard. Maria seems to sense that I'm coming as she humps her ass against my face.

Later, Maria sucks each of us in turn, sucking Veronica until Veronica comes, then sucking me until I come buckets on her face.

Maria stands up. She smiles at us as Veronica and I lie side by side on the bed. Brushing her hair away from her face with her fingers, Maria says: "I told you I like you."





Dykescapes IV



Sarah had her epiphany in a place called Ventimiglia, an ancient sea town a few kilometers from Genoa. She had left her husband in Rome after an argument, and she had driven the small rented Fiat up the coastal highway, up the left side of the boot, the car radio blasting rock music to help her forget her miseries. She had a vague notion of driving as far as Nice, but when darkness approached she found herself exhausted. A sign said Ventimiglia and had an arrow pointing over the cliff. Was there actually a town down there?

Another sign, one corner bent and its red paint peeling, said HOTEL SOPHIA. It was the name of the hotel that did it. Sarah had known a girl in college named Sophia. Sarah's first and only lesbian experience. Sultry Sophia, the girl with broad hips and a tropical liquid cunt. The affair had been brief, intense, completely divine, and had ended only because Sarah had been convinced she wanted a man as a mate and not a woman. So the affair with Sophia ended, and a week later Sarah met David. He was good-looking, had a job waiting for him in Wall Street, and he seemed to enjoy going down on her. They were married a month after they graduated.

That was three years ago. Now David was snorting coke in Rome with his British friends and Sarah had left him for good. Tough shit, Sarah thought. She started crying as she turned into the narrow road that led down the cliffs to Ventimiglia.

   *  *  *

The hotel had three stories, ten rooms, and a lovely slanted red tile roof splattered with bird droppings. All the rooms had balconies and faced the sea. The view from the rooms showed no beach, only a line of large yellow boulders and fishing boats and the waves coming in to crash against the rocks and die. The sound of the waves, relentless, the unending heartbeat of the sea, was everywhere, in every room, in your ears, in your belly, and in your head. No need for blasting rock music in Ventimiglia, no need for blasting rock music to forget your life. Sarah thought she had arrived in heaven, and after the ancient porter dropped her bags in the room and limped away with his tip, she went to the window and looked out at the sea and told herself she wanted to live here forever. I'll marry a count, she thought. She would marry an Italian count and he would build her a castle in Ventimiglia. But no count, no castle, and no marriage. She was finished with that. She would settle for the waves.

   *  *  *

The woman who ran the hotel was called Signora Maldi. She was in her forties, with pale skin, black hair, dark flashing eyes, and heavy breasts that threatened to burst through her dress. She spoke broken English and she apologized for the absence of airconditioning.

"Always broken," she said. "Stupid machine."

She made a gesture with her hand. Sarah said she didn't mind, the room was cool enough. Could she have a lemonade outside? She walked through the tiny lobby and into the garden behind the hotel. She chose one of the white tables, and she sat down to wait for her lemonade.

When Signora Maldi arrived with the lemonade on a tray, she found Sarah crying.

Signora Maldi put the lemonade on the table, then put the tray down and placed her hands on her hips.

"What's the matter with you?"

Sarah dried her eyes and looked up at her. "I'm all right."

"Why are you crying? You are too beautiful to cry."

"I left my husband. He's in Rome."

And she told Signora Maldi everything. Signora Maldi sat down and held Sarah's hand as she listened. The older woman kept nodding her head, her dark eyes fixed on Sarah's face. When Sarah finished by calling David a bastard, Signora Maldi laughed and said:

"That's good. It's better to hate him. Then you don't feel too much pain, eh?"

"Where did you learn to speak English?"

"In school, where else? I have a cousin in Brooklyn and he speaks to me on the telephone. He says Anna, you should come to America. The hell with him, I'm staying here."

"I like your name."

"Anna? You like the name Anna?"

"Anna Maldi."

"Yes, I'm Anna Maldi. Everyone says I look like Anna Magnani, but I'm not Anna Magnani, I'm Anna Maldi. Men are bastards, eh?"

"Some of them anyway," Sarah said, and she suddenly started crying again.

This time Signora Maldi put her arms around Sarah and drew her close and rocked her. Sarah found her face pressed into the globe of a large breast, the flesh like a pillow beneath her cheek. She could feel the warmth of the breast under Signora Maldi's dress. She could smell Signora Maldi's perfume. She thought she could feel a large nipple against her chin. Yes, the nipple was there, she could feel it. Not a small nipple, but a big one.

My God, I'd love to, Sarah thought. The idea was crazy. Signora Maldi would scream and smack her head. She would be thrown out of the hotel. Maybe Signora Maldi would call the police and they would deport her. You're crazy, Sarah thought. The ending of her marriage had made her crazy. She lowered her face an inch and closed her teeth around the bulge of Signora Maldi's fat nipple.

Signora Maldi muttered something in Italian and she suddenly stopped rocking Sarah. As the older woman held the younger woman against her breast, the two women seemed frozen in time. Then Sarah heard the word "bella". She knew that word. Bella, bella, I love you dear Bella. Bellisimo. She bit down on the nipple again.

Signora Maldi groaned. Her hands gripped Sarah's head and gently pushed Sarah's face away. "Not here," Signora Maldi said. "Come to my room."

   *  *  *

The sound of the sea, the waves, filled the inside of Sarah's head. The window was open, a cool breeze wafting into the room, the noise of the squawking seagulls playing counterpoint to the sound of the waves. They lay on the wide bed, Signora Maldi on her back, Sarah lying beside her. Signora Maldi had her dress unbuttoned, one large breast uncovered, its dark nipple in Sarah's active mouth.

Sarah sucked the enormous tit. She was no longer crying. She no longer thought of David. Screw David, he could never give her this. She liked sucking his cock, but this was a woman's breast and she liked it better. She sucked hard, she sucked gently, she licked and tugged at the nipple with her lips. Meanwhile her hands roamed over Signora Maldi's belly and thighs. Sarah wanted more. She slid her hand beneath Signora Maldi's dress and found the soft skin between her thighs. Slowly, she inched her hand upward until the edge of her hand touched the warmth of Signora Maldi's sex where it bulged through the crotch of her panties. Signora Maldi's cunt. Anna Maldi's cunt.

Anna Maldi chuckled softly. "You want the pussy, eh? Is that what you want? Okay, I'll give it to you." She pulled at the hem of her dress until she had it up to her belly. Then she urged Sarah off her chest and said: "Go on, take my panties off and you can have my pussy. You're so beautiful, I can't resist you. Go on, do it."

Sitting upright, Sarah now looked at the exposed breast with its saliva-coated nipple, the parted thighs, the white panties whose crotch showed the shadow of Anna Maldi's sex. Sarah was lost. She leaned forward, found the waistband of the panties and tugged them down over Anna Maldi's hips and thighs and legs and feet, all without looking at the place where she wanted to look most.

Would Medusa turn her into stone?

When Sarah finally looked, Anna had her knees up and wide apart, her cunt open and waiting for Sarah, her fingers rubbing the bush of dark hair above the flower of her sex.

"Go on," Anna said. "Suck me. Suck my juices. Look how wet I am for you."

Sarah moaned as she bent to the offering, the musk of the woman's sex overwhelming her senses. She started licking gently along the meaty labia. This was not Sophia, this was not a college girl. This was the cunt of a mature woman, a cunt in full ripeness, the clitoris long and thick, its tip a pink bean nestled in the hood. Sarah licked lightly up one side, down the other side, her nose tickled by the wild jungle of dark hair.

Anna evidently did not want gentleness; she pulled Sarah's face into her cunt, so that Sarah felt as though her face had been mashed into a split mango.

"Suck me hard," Anna said.

And Sarah started sucking, pulling in the warm juices, scouring the vaginal opening, sucking north, south, east, and west, down to the edge of the anus and then up to the clitoris again. She fixed on the fat clitoris, tongued it and chewed it as Anna groaned and rocked her knees back and forth. "Suck me," Anna said. "Suck my pussy. Oh, what a good sucker you are. Do it there. And there too. Oh, I adore it!"

Anna finally came, jerking upward, trembling, her hands holding Sarah's head in place as she pumped upward again and again. Sarah held on. She could hear the sea. She had her nose mashed against Anna's clitoris as she sucked the juices out of the running hole.

   *  *  *

After that Sarah belonged to Anna Maldi. Each day at noon, Anna ran Sarah's credit card through the machine to charge Sarah for the room. After that Sarah had lunch, usually a light salad and a glass of wine, and afterward, in the quiet of the afternoon siesta, Sarah would go to Anna's room to bury her face between Anna's open thighs.

Anna was not easy to please. Sarah learned that Anna needed three, four, five orgasms before she ordered Sarah to stop. Then Sarah would get one of the breasts, get a nipple to suck, while Anna's strong fingers pumped in and out of Sarah's cunt until Sarah had an orgasm. One orgasm, never two orgasms. And after that Anna would roll over and tell Sarah to do the other place, Anna's hairy little anus that drove Sarah wild with lust. She loved servicing Anna, she adored it. She knew Anna did not care about her, no real affection at all. Anna had taken to patting Sarah's cheek and calling Sarah her little lesbian, her little pussy-eater. "You suck my cunt so well," Anna said, "maybe I'll keep you and never be with a man again. Come on, do it to me once more. In my ass this time."

Every day. Every afternoon. In a small hotel in a place called Ventimiglia. What am I? Sarah thought. Was she a lesbian? Or was it merely that she had a hunger to please? Or maybe it was both. On the day before she would leave Anna and drive to Genoa to board a plane to Milano and then to New York, Sarah lay behind Anna's raised ass, sucking Anna from behind, her nose pushing at Anna's anus, her tongue swirling in Anna's cunt, her fingers rubbing her own clitoris to make herself come.

I'm praying, Sarah thought. This is an altar and I'm praying. And then she heard the sea again, the crash of a wave on the rocks, the music of Ventimiglia.

I am what I am, Sarah thought. My name is Sarah and this is what I am. For the first time in her life, she understood a few things. Thank you, Ventimiglia.

End



Dykescapes IX



Heather was in a room full of women. The music seemed loud enough to shake the pictures on the walls, and Heather wasn't sure how long she could stand it. She liked music, but this was more horrendous noise than music, and she was certain she could feel the vibrations in her teeth.

Butches were all over the place, wide, narrow, tall, and short. Three butches for every femme, and of course the femmes loved it, and Heather told herself she ought to love it too, but she had real competition here, and she was still torn up about Gina. Oh Gina. Where was Gina now? In San Diego, maybe. So Heather had come here to forget Gina (better than being alone, wasn't it?), put on lipstick and a dress and heels and told herself what she needed was to be with someone tonight. Not just anyone, but someone who could make her feel good about herself again. But this party was so crowded, so awfully noisy, so unlike her, she was beginning to think this was merely another one of her silly mistakes.

She watched the women who were dancing, the jiggling breasts, the sweat on their faces. Some of them looked strung out on dope or liquor. The smell of tobacco smoke was everywhere, a gray cloud of it at the far edge of the room.

She finally maneuvered her way to a bathroom. She passed two women in the hall clutching each other in a heavy kiss. Heather ignored them, waited her turn, and soon found herself with the door locked and her face staring back at her from the grimy mirror over the sink.

She opened her purse, removed a toothbrush and toothpaste, and brushed her teeth. After she finished, she felt silly about it, but she also felt refreshed. Silly, silly, she thought. Heather, you're a silly girl.

Outside the bathroom, she ran into Jan. Old friend Jan. Old lover Jan.

"Guess who's here?" Jan said.

"Who?"

"Mary Corcoran."

"You're kidding me."

"I'm not kidding you. She's back there in one of the rooms. She happens to be Bobbi Reilly's cousin. Don't faint with excitement."

"I'm already there. Corky? Jan, if you're lying to me, I'll kill you."

"Go look."

And Heather hurried to look. Mary Corcoran, the tennis star, Corky to the world, was Heather's idea of the sexiest lesbian alive.

Heather found her in one of the smaller rooms, this one as crowded and as smoky as all the others, but this one filled with women who all seemed to be salivating as they milled around a blonde leaning against one of the walls.

Heather was thrilled. She watched Corky's every move. Corky was tall, lean, strong, blonde. Like a Viking. Damn it, I'm wetting my pants, Heather thought. Corky seemed bathed in a golden light.

Then suddenly their eyes met. As Heather stood staring at her, Corky looking across the small room and their eyes met. Corky stared back. Heather was far enough back so Corky could see all of her, and Heather blushed as she saw Corky's eyes drop down and then up again.

Too much, Heather thought. I'm shaking. Or maybe the house was shaking. She could not take it any more, and she turned and hurried out of the room. One more second in there and she was certain she'd make a fool of herself.

She found the largest room, the noisiest room where the women were dancing and the music still blaring loud enough to vibrate the floor-boards. She found a drink, found an empty spot against the wall, and she settled in to cogitate, to digest what had happened in the other room, the way Corky had looked at her.

"You ran away," a voice beside her said.

Heather turned, looked, and was instantly dumbfounded. Corky stood there, gazing at Heather with fixed blue eyes.

Heather blushed. "You're Mary Corcoran."

Her face was so tan, her blonde hair almost white.

"Dance with me," Corky said. "I'm getting bored just standing around."

In a daze, Heather moved into the crowd of dancing women with Corky. She was aware of the envious eyes of the other femmes. Even the butches were envious. Corky, after all, was a celebrity.

Heather felt clumsy as she danced. Corky's eyes were on her and she hated being clumsy. She wondered what type of woman Corky liked. There was certainly enough competition here. Heather felt her breasts shaking as she moved her body. The high heels she wore made her legs look good, but she wished she were a better dancer than she was. Corky's hips were so slim, her body so straight in her man's shirt and jeans.

Then Heather was suddenly happy about the way she looked. Corky had looked at her in the other room, and then Corky had followed her. Now Corky's eyes were locked with hers as they danced facing each other. The music was as loud as ever, but Heather now found the rhythm exciting. She closed her eyes and allowed her body to move freely to the music.

When Corky touched her, Heather felt as though an electric shock passed between them. Her hands on Heather's hips, their bodies moving to the pounding rhythm, Corky leaned closer, close enough so Heather could hear what she said.

"I'd like to spend the night with you," Corky said.

Heather was stunned. Disbelieving.

Corky leaned even closer. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you."

"Well?"

Five minutes later, they left the party and drove in Heather's car to Heather's place.

* * *

Inside her apartment, Heather was in a daze again, disbelieving Corky's presence. She was so worldly, what could she possibly think of this place? The apartment was so small, so cluttered. But Corky did not seem to mind. She took Heather in her arms and kissed her.

"Don't be afraid of me," Corky said.

Heather nodded. "All right, I won't."

They pressed their bodies together. Heather closed her eyes when Corky's hands moved to her breasts. Corky continued kissing her, nibbling at her lips, her hands slowly undoing the buttons at the back of Heather's dress. Heather wasn't sure when it happened, but suddenly she found one of her breasts exposed and Corky bending to kiss it. A shudder passed through her body as she felt Corky's mouth on her nipple. Corky tongued the tip of the breast, gently licking it, her hand lifting it.

Heather was so excited, she thought it might destroy her. Was this really Mary Corcoran? How could this lustrous person possibly be here? I'll die if it's a dream, Heather thought. Somehow, she had to maintain her sanity. A glow of health and vitality and beauty seemed to radiate from Corky. She was still kissing Heather's exposed breast, stroking it with her tongue, making Heather sweat with desire. Heather was so turned on now, she had to make a special effort not to say something crazy or something that would break the spell.

Corky finally straightened up again, her fingertip toying with Heather's stiff wet nipple. "Do me a favor?"

Heather looked at her. "What?"

"Put on a bra. Show me what you look like in a bra."

Heather stared at her a long moment. She felt her belly quivering. She nodded. She left Corky and she went to the bedroom.

A dream, Heather thought as she looked at herself in the mirror over the dresser. No, of course it was not a dream and she knew it. Corky was back there in the living room waiting for her.

Heather quickly removed her dress and stepped into a skirt. She found a sexy black bra in a drawer and hurried to get it over her breasts. She checked her looks in the mirror. The bra was black lace, and she thought it looked pretty.

When Heather returned to the living room, Corky looked at her with appreciative eyes. "That's lovely," Corky said.

Heather blushed and waited, wishing she were a model, wishing she had more poise.

Corky came to her and kissed her. She stroked Heather's back. Her wet mouth slid over Heather's cheek and temple and earlobe. Heather shivered as she felt Corky's tongue tickling the inside of her ear. Corky's hands slid over her back and waist as her lips found Heather's again. She cupped Heather's breasts through the black lace bra. Her arms tightened more firmly around Heather's body as she pressed her mouth against the side of Heather's neck. Her hands dropped to stroke Heather's hips before sliding around to feel the curves of Heather's ass.

She's like iron, Heather thought. Corky was so strong, it made her want to whimper.

"I get turned on looking at you," Corky whispered. "Do you mind?"

"No, I like it."

Corky stepped back, her eyes on Heather's body again. Heather imagined she could feel the tips of her breasts growing larger.

Corky said she wanted to see more of Heather's legs. "You're so beautiful."

Heather's excitement was almost too much to bear. She slowly lifted her skirt with both hands. She loved it. No one had ever asked her to do this. She pulled the skirt up, up, until her legs and thighs in pantyhose were revealed to Corky. She did not stop. She lifted the skirt high enough to show her belly. Corky made a sound of approval as she did a turn.

"Lovely," Corky said.

Heather faced her again. "I'll take the skirt off."

Corky nodded, and Heather quickly unhooked the skirt and stepped out of it. Now she wore only the bra and pantyhose and heels. She knew her bush could be seen through the sheer nylon.

Corky said, "I'd like a drink. Do you have anything?"

"Yes, of course."

Then Corky admitted that what she really wanted was to watch Heather move around. "I'll just watch you while you fix the drinks."

Heather made the drinks, feeling Corky's eyes on her, excited by Corky's eyes. Could she ever feel calm with Corky? Everything in the room seemed to vibrate with a new clarity. She felt renewed, as if all the lovers she'd had meant nothing.

After the drinks were made, Corky urged Heather to sit on the sofa. Then Corky went to her knees in front of Heather, and Heather's heart pounded. She knew what was coming, and it made her more excited than ever. She sighed and relaxed against the back of the sofa as Corky started kissing her legs and thighs. Heather felt as though her cunt had melted. She could feel the nylon rubbing against her clitoris, against her swollen labia. She opened her thighs a bit wider and squirmed her buttocks on the sofa cushion. She covered her breasts with her hands, her fingers pinching her nipples.

"Oh please, don't tease..."

Corky chuckled. "You're soaked."

"I can't take this..."

Corky finally pushed Heather's thighs further apart and went down on her through the nylon. Heather groaned, lifted her legs, held them up with her hands, her head bent as she watched that marvelous blonde head between her thighs. She felt Corky's mouth sucking her juices through the nylon. The wetness was everywhere, her own juices, Corky's saliva, Corky's lips working. Heather moaned. She squirmed her hips. Ecstasy came in a gush, and Corky's mouth worked even harder. Heather came and came, and it never seemed to stop.

"You're so sweet," Corky said, her wet face nuzzling between Heather's open thighs, her tongue licking the wet nylon.

Corky made her rise, and they walked hand in hand to the bedroom. Gently, she lay Heather down on the bed and she removed her shoes. She slowly peeled the pantyhose off Heather's hips and thighs and legs. She gazed a long time at Heather's cunt, opening Heather's legs to look at everything.

Heather wanted Corky to see her core. She opened her legs even wider. Corky laughed and bent to kiss her again. Corky's jeans rubbed against Heather's hips as she slid her hands under Heather's body to hold her ass.

"Now come again," Corky said. "Come again while I do you like this."

Later, as Heather lay exhausted on the bed, she suddenly realized that Corky was naked and on her face. Corky's cunt was on Heather's mouth. Heather had no idea when or how. She felt Corky's juices dripping over her lips as Corky slowly swayed her hips back and forth.

Heather loved it. She remembered who it was. She thought about asking Corky for an autograph later. Then she laughed at her own silliness, laughed into Corky's sliding cunt. Happier than she could ever remember, Heather worked her tongue again. Her face was now a mess, her lips and chin covered with Corky's juices, her lipstick washed away. Nice color too, Heather thought. Lipstick girl's lipstick all gone. She held Corky's ass as Corky continued sliding.

End 



Dykescapes V



She said, "Francie, come with me to the party."

At that time my name was Francie, not Tulip. I wasn't sure I wanted to go to the party. Why should I go to a party with her? We were no longer seeing each other, no longer sleeping together, and now after not hearing from her for nearly two months, she had suddenly dropped in unexpectedly and invited me out.

"What kind of party?"

"A nasty party."

"Oh yeah."

"You're afraid? Afraid to get your little pussy wet? Come on, get dressed."

I was never able to resist Pat, never able to say no. Like a junkie hooked by some irresistible drug. She sat in the bedroom and watched me as I dressed for the party, and after I had my dress on she came behind me as I stood in front of the mirror and she rubbed my ass.

"You look hot," she said.

"What kind of a party is it?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know, I'm asking."

Her answer was to kiss my neck, and while she did that she hiked my dress up in back and she rubbed the crack of my ass through my panties. It felt good. It always felt good when Pat touched me. I wanted more, but she chuckled in my ear and pulled away from me. "Hot little girl, you'll have to wait for it."

After we left my apartment, she waved over a taxi and she took me downtown to a loft on 20th Street. Some party. A crowded dyke party in a loft that looked a block long. Maybe a hundred people, loud music, women in leather, obvious slaves all over the room. It took me about ten seconds to get turned on, but I was afraid. I'm always afraid. One more new situation, and the big question is: Can I cope? I wanted to stay with Pat, but she cut loose, and suddenly I was alone in the crowd.

I roamed with a glass of wine in my hand, wondering if I ought to split before my knees started knocking. Then a woman came up to me, big woman, a butch top, a strong looking woman wearing black, a black teeshirt and black levis, the teeshirt stretched by a pair of huge breasts. I could see her nipples pushing at the cotton. No bra. A slight wriggle of her shoulders and she had them shaking under the teeshirt.

"Hello, doll, my name's Red. You look like you need some company. What's your name?"

The red in her short hair looked like a dye.

"Francie," I said.

"Hi, Francie. How about dancing with me?"

Sure, why not? I'd rather dance than be alone in a party like this.

She led me through the crowd to the part of the room where the women were dancing, and when we arrived I had a great zing right up to my throat because some of the dancing women were topless. Sweaty and topless, half a dozen women in the dancing group stripped to the waist, some with small breasts, some with large breasts, the tits jumping to the music and making me so hot I could feel my heart pumping.

Red took me out into the middle of the dancing women. We started dancing, looking at each other as we moved. I glanced around, trying to spot Pat, but I didn't see her. I hated her now for leaving me. I felt awkward. I always feel awkward when I dance with people I don't know watching me. Red was good. She knew how to move. She was big, but she still knew how to move. I watched her bouncing breasts, and I soon forgot about Pat. Red noticed the way I followed the movements of her breasts, and she laughed. She pulled her teeshirt up, just briefly, and she gave me a glimpse of her huge jiggling tits.

We danced some more, and then Red stopped dancing and she pulled me into a dark corner. She kissed me, a hot kiss with her tongue half way down my throat and those big breasts pushing me against the wall.

As the kiss ended, another woman came up to us.

"Hey, Red, you look happy."

Red turned, and when she saw who it was, she chuckled. "How's it going, Lucky?"

This woman called Lucky was not a heavyweight like Red. Lucky was dark, maybe Puerto Rican, dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin, wearing a leather vest, and leather pants, and clunky leather boots. She looked at me, and she looked at Red, and she slapped Red's arm.

"What's this? Your new doll?"

Red shook her head. "We just met."

"Yeah, sure."

"Really. Just ten minutes ago."

Lucky laughed. "I saw you fucking her mouth with your tongue."

I felt myself blushing.

Red put her arm around me and hugged me. "Nothing but a nice kiss."

"Sure, just a nice kiss. What can you make her do?"

"I told you we just met."

"So what? Come here, doll. Let me see how you kiss."

Lucky moved in, and Red allowed it. I didn't belong to either of them, but I'd been with Red first. Never mind, now it was Lucky who was kissing me. Her mouth tasted of peppermint. She humped against me as she kissed me, and that made me hot.

After she stopped kissing, Lucky asked me who had brought me to the party. "Who'd you come with?"

"Pat Grogan."

Lucky gave Red a look. Then she smiled at me and said: "Is Pat good to you?"

"We really don't see each other much. Not any more."

"She dumped you, huh? That's the way Pat is -- she dumps her women."

They moved in, both of them, Red and Lucky. They pressed me against the wall, kissed me, whispered in my ears, ran their hands over my body. I started shaking again, but I felt wonderful.

"What do you like?" Red whispered. "If you like a workout with a cock, I'll send you to the moon." And while she said this, Lucky had her hand on my ass, her fingers squeezing me through my dress.

Lucky said: "Come on, tell us what you like. I bet you like getting topped, right?"

So I told them. I told them I like getting topped, I like being told what to do, I like getting spanked sometimes.

Lucky squeezed my ass harder. "You like getting fisted?"

I felt the heat in my face again. "I don't know, no one ever did it."

Not even Pat. She'd never shown any interest in it. If she'd wanted it, I would never have stopped her.

"Not Pat?"

"No, never."

"Pat's a phony," Lucky said.

Red pulled up her teeshirt on one side to expose one of her breasts. "You want some of this, honey?"

I looked down at it. The tit was huge, her nipple like a fat cherry.

"Yes."

Red laughed and dropped her teeshirt. "Come on, we'll take her to my place."

I rode between them in the back of a taxi. They had their hands all over me, in the dark, keeping their hands low so the driver couldn't see anything. I kept my legs apart as their hands dueled between my legs for proprietary rights. I was hotter than ever, my panties soaked as I wondered what they planned to do with me. It's the not knowing that always gets to me, the unexpected, the vulnerability, the possibilities. No one has ever gone far enough with me. I wondered about Pat. Did Pat care that I'd left the party without her? But I had two hands between my legs, and I was hardly in the mood to think about Pat.

Red lived in an ordinary little apartment with hanging plants over each window, a vase of pink and white tulips on a table. I walked over to look at the lovely tulips, still fresh, the colors perfect. Beside the vase was a pile of exam papers. Red was a teacher in a midtown private school.

After she removed her jacket, Lucky said, "Where are the cuffs, Red?"

Red left us and then returned with a pair of leather cuffs. She gave them to Lucky, and Lucky moved behind me and cuffed my wrists behind my back.

"That's better," Lucky said. She stroked my ass through my dress.

"Open your mouth," Red said, and when I did, she shoved a ball-gag into my mouth and adjusted it with her fingers.

I started trembling again. But I was hotter than ever. I wanted to suck their pussies. I wanted Lucky's thighs squeezing my face. I wanted to belong to them.

Lucky leaned against me and talked softly in my ear. "Do you like eating pussy? If you like sugar, I've got a whole pussy full of it. Do you want my pussy, babe?" She twisted my arms until I nodded my head. I could smell peppermint on her breath.

Red brought a pair of scissors, and she started cutting my clothes away. I was stunned. I hadn't figured my dress would be ruined. Wielding the scissors, she stripped me bare. She cut everything away, my dress, my underwear, everything. Now I was naked, trembling, standing there with the ball in my mouth and my wrists cuffed behind my back. Lucky laughed and pinched one of my nipples. "Pretty," Lucky said. "You're a pretty little dolly."

They moved away from me to get their clothes off. Red's breasts were huge, the nipples like thumbs. She looked as strong as an ox, strong arms and thighs, a full sloping belly, a wild thatch of brown hair covering her cunt.

Lucky was sleek, small tits, a shaved pussy, hardly any ass. She had a tattoo on her left hip, a dagger crossing a labrys.

Red brought out a whip and she handed it to Lucky. "Go on," Red said. "Get her worked up."

Lucky walked behind me. She teased me, pushing the whip between my legs and into the crack of my ass. Then she started whipping me, whipping my ass, my thighs, and then she came around in front and she whipped my belly and tits. It hurt like hell. I moaned. I wanted her to stop it, but the ball in my mouth prevented me from saying anything. She whipped my ass again, but I remained standing. Lucky was sweating.

Red urged her on. "She's a doll," Red said. "What a pretty little doll she is."

Lucky teased me with the whip again, rubbing it into my cunt, laughing as I shook my head. I wanted her to stop, but I was hot, my pussy dripping in response to the aura of heavy female cruelty. She whipped me again, and I writhed in pain. I was afraid my breasts would be hurt. I wished my breasts were smaller. My body tingled, my skin glowing, my heart pounding with excitement.

"Enough," Red said. "Let's fuck her brains out."

Lucky agreed and she threw the whip away. She pushed me toward a chair, made me bend over the back of the chair with my ass exposed. She fondled my ass and leaned over me to talk in my ear. "You're hot, aren't you? You're dripping buckets."

"Fuck her," Red said. "You do her first."

I couldn't see much, but I could hear and feel everything. I felt Lucky's hands on my ass. Then her fingers were in my cunt, her fingers sliding into my wetness. The fingers churned, withdrew, pushed in and churned again. She kept grinding her knuckles into me. Then I felt another finger, maybe her thumb in my vagina. That finger withdrew and it moved to my anus. I moaned against the ball as she twisted her thumb into my asshole.

"Tight," Lucky said. "You need to be worked, girl." She fucked me with her hand, three fingers in my cunt, her thumb in my ass. I moaned and shook and loved every moment of it. She made me come twice, then she laughed and pulled her fingers out and slapped my ass. "Good fuck, sweets. You're a good fuck."

Now it was Red's turn. I turned to glance at her, and I shuddered as I saw her wearing an enormous black dildo. She smiled at me as she stroked the shaft with her hand. Then she came to me and she removed the ball-gag from my mouth.

"Suck my prick," Red said. "Let's see how good you are."

I went down on my knees to suck her cock. The feel of the dildo filling my mouth almost made me come. I sucked and licked, until finally Red pushed me away.

"Ass up," she said.

I was afraid. If she wanted my ass, I was sure the dildo would kill me. I bent over the chair again, my hips elevated, waiting. Red fingered my cunt, and then she screwed the dildo inside my vagina and started pumping.

Lucky climbed onto the chair in front of me and pushed her cunt in my face.

Now I was in heaven. I had my mouth on Lucky's cunt, and my pussy filled with Red's cock. I told myself that now I knew what heaven was like. Red slapped my ass as I came. Then Red pulled out, stripped away the harness and dildo, and she dragged me with her to the sofa. She wanted her pussy sucked, and she sat with her big thighs wide open and she pulled my face into her wet crotch.

I sucked at Red's hot and dripping cunt. And as I did so, Lucky pulled one of the tulips out of the vase and she stuck the wet stem up my ass. I shook with pleasure as I felt the stem pushing in.

"Pretty tulip in her ass," Red laughed.

My nose rubbed against her big clit.

I wondered about the color. I wondered if the tulip was white or pink.

"Tulip, tulip," Lucky said. "From now on we'll call her Tulip."

And that's how I got my new name. 



Dykescapes VI



She was not merely afraid of her, she was terrified. She saw her the first time when one night a group of them went to a popular bar and restaurant called Reilly's to celebrate someone's promotion. They had a new hostess, a tall curvy brunette about thirty-five with large breasts and a willowy shape. She was beautiful. Trey had her eyes on the brunette's ass nearly constantly, because their table was right behind the small reservation counter and she sat facing it, looking at the back of whoever was standing there to welcome the customers as they walked in.

The brunette had a drawl of some kind, Texas, Trey guessed, and she could hear the woman's voice and look at her and let wild fantasies float through her head as she sat with her friends. Only once did their eyes ever meet, the eyes of the hostess and Trey's, and nothing at all was in the woman's look except the pleasant disinterest that went with her job. Of course she knew Trey was a dyke. They were four dykes in the restaurant, and the brunette was too experienced not to notice what they were, especially since Reilly's was in a part of town where dykes were as common as steak sauce in a steak house. The hostess did look at them as a group several times, but Trey detected no sign of any special interest.

So why did Trey go back alone the next night and sit at the bar? Dumb yearning, Trey supposed. Trey enjoyed merely looking at the woman. At the end of that first night she had masturbated thinking about the brunette, brought herself off again and again thinking about what might be under that dress and what it might be like to hold that woman in her arms. When Trey had fantasies like that about a woman, the woman became fixed in her consciousness in some way, fixed so that Trey thought about her a long time afterward. Trey went back to Reilly's out of dumb yearning, not expecting anything, just to look at the woman and enjoy herself.

The brunette hardly noticed Trey the second night, but she did notice Trey the third night, and on the fourth night, after Trey had been sitting at the bar almost an hour, the woman casually walked over to Trey, smiled at her a long moment without saying anything, and then whispered:

"You're cruising me, aren't you?"

Trey stammered. "Cruising you?"

"You've been here three or four nights in a row and you're always looking at me."

Trey felt destroyed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it."

But instead of making some smartass comment, or accepting the apology and walking off, the brunette said: "You want to come back at eleven, honey? I'll be through then and you can take me for coffee somewhere."

Trey had to ask, because it was her policy to always ask first. "Are you gay?"

The brunette raised an eyebrow and smiled at Trey, more a smirk than a smile. "Try me, honey."

So that was how she met Lily. In a daze, really. Trey was in a daze at the beginning, and she never did come out of it. When she returned to Reilly's at eleven, Lily was already waiting at the entrance.

"There you are," Lily said as she took Trey's arm. "Do you have a car, honey? If you don't have a car, we can find a taxi at the corner. I always take a cab home. Why don't we just go to my place and have the coffee there?"

Trey felt so clumsy with her. She was so beautiful, those dark eyes flashing at her, the white teeth sparkling when she smiled. She was taller than Trey, and the heels she wore made her even taller. As they stood together at the corner to flag down a taxi, Lily seemed to tower over her. Big Texas girl. What the hell was she doing with her? Trey never had success with women like this one. Lily was too exciting.

Nothing happened in the taxi. Lily talked about her job, about how happy she was to get away from the shitkickers in Texas, about the plans she had to get her daughter to come live with her. She had Trey grinding her teeth. All Trey wanted was to grab those big breasts in her hands, but she was paralyzed with fear Lily would push her away or say something nasty and she would feel dumb and devastated.

Lily lived in a clean little apartment in an old building. When they were inside, she pulled the shades and asked if Trey wanted coffee or liquor. "How about bourbon?" Lily said. "I don't have any dope, honey. I don't like dope."

Trey said bourbon would be fine. Lily brought her some on the rocks, and they sat down on a worn sofa and smiled at each other as they sipped their bourbon. Trey wondered if she should make a move. But there was no need to decide, because after the third sip Lily put her drink down and she put her arms around Trey and kissed her.

"You're too quiet, honey."

Trey nuzzled against her neck, turning on to the smell of her. "I enjoy listening to you."

"You do? Well, I like that. I'm going to change, okay? You wait here and I'll be right back."

Trey watched her walk out of the small living room, watched the sway of those lovely hips with indecent thoughts in her mind. She sat there five minutes, ten minutes, sipped the bourbon down past the ice. Then suddenly Lily reappeared, walked into the living room and shocked the hell out of Trey because she was half naked, literally half naked, white slacks below the waist and nothing at all above the waist.

She caught Trey's shocked look and gave a soft laugh. "You don't mind, do you? You've been looking at my tits every night since last Friday, so you might as well look for real."

Her big breasts swaying like a pair of large Christmas bells, she walked over to a table that served as the bar and poured some more bourbon into her glass. "Want some more bourbon, honey? I always need two drinks to get my wings off the ground."

Trey's own wings were already flapping, but she was afraid to say no and break the mood. When Lily turned around and walked over with the bottle of bourbon, Trey's eyes were blinded by the beauty of those large breasts. They were not huge, just big and lovely, and they seemed to fit Lily perfectly.

Lily noticed, of course. She smiled at Trey, filled her glass with bourbon, then put her own drink and the bottle down. Then she took hold of her breasts with her hands and said: "You like these, don't you? Sure, I can tell, all right. Come on, honey, don't be bashful."

She leaned over Trey, leaned low enough so that Trey could touch her breasts. Trey took them in her hands, stroked them, weighed them, rubbed the hard nipples with her thumbs. Lily sighed and eased herself down on the sofa beside Trey. They kissed, a lingering kiss that became sloppy as Trey worked her tongue in Lily's mouth. Trey still held one of Lily's breasts, her fingers teasing the nipple, and when the kiss ended Trey quickly dropped her head to kiss Lily's breasts. That seemed to be what Lily wanted, for she then leaned back against the sofa with her hands behind her head to offer both breasts to Trey's mouth.

Trey's excitement was so intense, her hands were shaking, and she had to make a special effort to calm down and not rush it. She did not want to rush it. She wanted this to last forever. At first, she kissed and licked Lily's breasts but avoided her nipples in order to build up a teasing tension. She licked everywhere, on the upper slopes, at the sides, lifting each breast to lick underneath it, keeping her tongue wet with saliva so that soon Lily's skin was coated with it. Trey slid her mouth over the slippery skin, skirting Lily's nipples but still not touching them with her lips. Lily started groaning and squirming under Trey. Then finally she pushed Trey away, pushed her down on her back on the sofa so that she could lean over Trey with her wet breasts hanging over Trey's face. "Don't tease, honey. Get one in your mouth and suck it hard."

Holding Lily's left breast with both hands, Trey pulled the nipple to her mouth and sucked it in. She could tell it was nursing Lily wanted, not licking. The harder Trey nursed, the louder Lily moaned, and each time she moaned Trey's own excitement intensified. She slid one hand down Lily's side to stroke her ass through the tight white slacks. Lily was hot now, making all the sounds, squirming over Trey. Soon Trey pulled her mouth away from Lily's breast and said: "Why don't you get your pants off and I'll suck you."

Lily sat up, held her breasts in her hands and smirked at Trey. "Are you any good?"

"I'm the best in town, haven't you heard?"

Lily gave a soft laugh and climbed off Trey to undress. She peeled her slacks and panties off together, threw them on a chair and then climbed over Trey again. She was hairy, a lovely dense forest of dark hair hiding her labia, and when she eased her cunt down on Trey's face, Trey had to push her tongue through the hair to find the wetness. But once Trey was there, once she'd opened Lily a bit, the flood ran over her tongue like sweet nectar.

Lily seemed to have no interest in anything subtle, so Trey gave her what she wanted. When Lily pressed her clit down on Trey's nose, Trey slammed her tongue inside Lily's vagina and lay still while Lily rode her face to an orgasm.

Some time in the middle of the night, as they lay in each other's arms on Lily's bed, Trey awakened to find the TV on and an old Western movie on the screen. Sure enough, the locale was Texas. Trey cuddled against Lily, took one of Lily's large breasts in her mouth, and fell asleep again.



Dykescapes VII



She's a busy sort, utilizing the finite minutes of each day, always directed, the day's agenda planned at the office in the morning, or sometimes the previous evening, with me aware of it when I see that distracted look in her eyes. Sometimes I think this relationship is ridiculous, too many places where the quilts don't match. But it goes on. Three years now, and since a dyke marriage is said to be usually good for two years and no more, the mere fact that we're in our third year should be a testament to something. Of course Sarah would not agree, she's much too rational for the fairy tales of dyke dramas, we're together and that's it and every relationship is a unique entity not really related to other entities, one year, two years, three years, or thirty years. (The idea of loving the same woman thirty years frightens me; I'm not supposed to be frightened, but I'm frightened anyway.)

On the wall opposite the foot of the bed are two framed drawings. One is a reproduction of a drawing of a bare-breasted odalisque by Matisse. An open window and a woman with round breasts. Sarah has no breasts. I'm the one with the breasts, the big ass, the primeval mother-shape. Sarah looks almost scrawny, narrow hips, compact little bottom, a spectacle of leanness. Her legs, however, are wonderful, long and graceful and extremely sexy. She had a youthful yearning to be a dancer, but it never happened, another lost dream, and who knows the wrangling people do with their lost dreams? Don't think about your lost dreams, think about your dreams of tomorrow.

So we shall let the lost dreams rest in peace. Instead of dancing her way to fame and glory, Sarah obsessed her way through Yale Law School and an early partnership in a prestigious law firm. Who is to say that dead dreams are not better dead? I can't imagine her as a dancer, since despite her leanness she's more an amazon than a dryad. The legs are elegant, but she has square shoulders and strong arms. At our first meeting I told Sarah she had a startling resemblance to a photo I'd seen of Natalie Barney, but of course Sarah had no knowledge then of Natalie Barney and she thought it was merely a line put out by a dinky femme in high heels attempting to charm her.

Not too far on the wall from the Matisse is another drawing, this one with a blatant sexuality, which is why it hangs there, since when we first discovered the drawing in a large rotting book of erotic drawings in a flea market, Sarah looked at me and I looked at her and our eyes said we must have this because this is the way we fuck and the style is charming and we most certainly must have it.

We paid exactly ten dollars for the book, cut out the drawing and tossed the rest of the book into the trash because it had a nasty smell to it and we were a bit wary of it. However, the drawing had no scent, and we framed it and put it on the wall opposite the foot of the bed.

The drawing shows two women in a horizontal clinch, a classic soixante-neuf with one woman on her back and the other woman head to feet and crouched over her. Why the drawing hangs there on the wall is simple: the woman on the bottom is the one with the rounded curves and the woman on the top is as lean as a rail, and that is the way we are and that is the way we fuck.

The woman on her back is wearing white stockings and high-heeled shoes with a single strap across the instep and she has one leg in the air as though she's waving that leg as an expression of pleasure. Maybe so. The woman on top is on all fours, crouched over her partner, her head lowered and her face hidden between her lover's thighs. The woman on bottom has her arms wrapped around the upper woman's waist, a bracelet falling back on her left forearm, her face completely covered by the other woman's ass and thighs. The drawing is rather baroque, the background consisting of an elaborate wallpaper showing repetitive vertical stripes and curlicues, the sort of wallpaper popular in the 1920s, the expanse of wallpaper broken by a large round mirror painted a dense black and showing nothing at all.

We like to play CDs while we're doing it, not music but people talking, dramatic recitations, Siobhan McKenna reading the Molly soliloquy. even the dry voice of T.S. Eliot blathering about his women coming and going, a patient lying etherized on a table while Sarah firmly rocks her ass back and forth on my face. She takes a long time for the little death to arrive, which is quite fine since I enjoy lying there with my face in a parallel world. I like the darkness, I like the scent, I especially adore the hot wetness that bathes my face when Sarah is enthusiastic. You would not think a lean body like that could be so tropical, but when it happens it's a treat and I find myself lost in the sucking.

Natalie Barney passed ninety-six years on this planet, with her last seventy years spent in Paris, where she lived since 1902. The word "spent" is appropriate, since Natalie made a serious attempt to fuck every interesting woman she encountered, and as a rich woman hosting a popular literary and artistic salon in Paris, she encountered many available women, an unending series of female poets, playwrights, novelists, painters, and dancers who succumbed to Natalie's seductive wiles.

The second time I told Sarah she reminded me of Natalie Barney, she laughed and said I was fooling, and who the hell was Natalie Barney anyway? This was after we'd made love a few times, nothing extraordinary, satisfying but not extraordinary. So I told Sarah the story of Natalie Barney and the collection of dykes that wandered in a continuing stream in and out of her salon.

That's why it pays to be rich, Sarah said.

That's not the point.

It isn't? All right, then what's the point.

The point is she must have had something, a certain allure.

Allure.

Yes, allure. And so do you, and that's one reason why you remind me of Natalie Barney.

And what's the other reason?

You do look like her.

You're lying.

I'm not lying, it's the truth.

All right, I look like Natalie Barney.

And you have her allure.

And I have her allure. And what would you like to do with this Natalie Barney reincarnation right now?

I'd like you to sit on my face.

A soft hiss came out between Sarah's teeth, then a sigh and a quiet little laugh. Yes, I think I'd like that, she said.

And that was how Sarah and I found out how we like to fuck.

Thank you, Natalie Barney.



Dykescapes VIII



Sandra had a great yearning to make love outdoors, an event she had never accomplished, although these days she found herself thinking about it frequently, and the desire seemed to be growing rather than waning. She was an efficient young woman, a university lecturer in medieval history, and she hated interfering obsessions. She had her work, after all, and this fixation on the outdoors was really so unlike her. And it might be so difficult to achieve. For one thing, she lived and worked in the city, and the "outdoors" at issue was not city outdoors but country outdoors. And the second thing, and perhaps more important, was that she had no lover. How could she rid herself of this obsession to make love outdoors if she had no lover? The fantasy did not concern masturbation, and in any case she had no car and the idea of renting a car and driving out to the country to finger herself under a tree seemed crazy.

Finally, one evening when her thoughts of the outdoors persisted strongly enough to make work impossible, Sandra put down Clybourne's _History of the Twelfth Century_ (which she considered superficial and perhaps not worth her time anyway), and she decided this very evening she would attack her "outdoor fantasy problem". She would find a lover (a woman, since she had never had lovers other than women), and somehow she would persuade her new lover, if not this evening then in the near future, persuade her that a tryst in the country would be a marvelous experience. Her fantasy accomplished, her obsession would end and her equilibrium would be restored.

Now that she had an agenda, Sandra quickly mobilized her "focused and organized" persona. She knew precisely the type of woman she wanted for this expedition, the type she always found attractive, although for the past several years she had avoided such woman like the proverbial plague since affairs with her "type" usually evolved into obsessive entanglements whose intensity quickly destroyed her equanimity and her ability to work. Sandra knew herself: start one of those dyke dramas and she'd be a wreck for six months. Her new lover had to be her type, all right, but there had to be an understanding of limits.

Sandra's erotic type had been set when she was quite young by a surreptitious reading of Mademoiselle Maupin. She had, in fact, cleverly torn the guts of the book out of its binding and glued a new binding from a destroyed copy of Pride and Prejudice, which she thought the most stupid story imaginable, with its collection of stupid women yearning to be married to stupid men. Concerning Mademoiselle Maupin, Sandra had never quite completely deciphered the mystery of why Madelaine de Maupin, posing as the handsome nobleman Theodore, had excited her to such feverish nightly masturbations. Oh, those reveries she had!

But mystery or no mystery, ever since her youth Sandra's ideal lover had been the archetypical androgynous woman, lean and gallant and with a heart-rending noble face, a woman who looked elegant in a suit, a woman who combined strength and beauty in a perfect rendition of Madelaine de Maupin posing as Theodore de Serannes. Slow down, Sandra thought. The present reverie made her want to abandon her agenda to simply lie down on her bed naked and masturbate. No, she would not yield. She was not the sort to become unfocused and disorganized once she set her mind to an objective.

Sandra knew a few things apart from the appearance of the woman she wanted, even if she hadn't met the woman yet. She knew what the woman would want in another woman, at least what the woman would want Sarah to look like. Sandra certainly had enough experience with such women to understand all of that.

Sandra hurried to begin her preparations for the evening. She had a hot shower, and then she carefully applied her make-up and chose her clothing. She knew the importance of clothes during an escapade like this one. The woman she desired would want her in feminine clothing, an announcement of attitude, a hint of sexual pleasures yet to be achieved. Sandra never wore such clothes at the university, since the result would be equivalent to dangling a strip of honey-coated paper before a swarm of male flies. But this evening she would have her adventure, in a place where other women arrived for their own adventures, and she would dress for it with perfection. Simple but perfect. An elegant black knit dress that clung to her body like a second skin to reveal her breasts and belly and hips and thighs. A thin gold necklace with a dangling Aztec design. Sheer black stockings and strappy high- heeled black sandals. The black would set off the blonde hair that framed her face. She knew she would look good. She expected she'd be a smash hit. She hurried to paint her nails before dressing.

At precisely ten o'clock, Sandra arrived at a place called Velvet, a dimly-lit chic little lesbian bar and dance-club that catered to professional women. Sandra hadn't visited this particular bar in several years, and she was quite content that no one recognized her. She perched herself on a stool at one end of the bar, ordered a Cosmo, and looked at the crowd.

Ten minutes passed. She sipped the Cosmo. Well, what did you expect? Sandra thought. The room had its quota of smashing young femmes, lovely twenty-year-olds who even if they were hardly beyond nubile seemed sophisticated to the point of ennui. Most of the women, however, were in their thirties, a mixed group of physical types, but all of them groomed and appropriate to the ambience. Another ten minutes. Where is my Maupin? Sandra thought. How long could she sit alone at the bar before appearing desolate? When would the sleek butch she wanted approach her?

It happened unexpectedly. Sandra was about to order another drink, when a sultry voice behind her said: "Your glass is empty. Let me buy you another."

Sandra turned on her stool and gazed into the eyes of her dream lover.

* * *

Her name was Jen and she wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, a white silk shirt and a black string tie. She had dark hair slicked back at the sides, dark bottomless eyes, and the lean face of one of those gallant-looking Renaissance courtiers in the paintings of the Fontainebleu School.

"I'll have a glass of Pinot Grigio," Jen said to the bartender after ordering Sandra's Cosmo. She looked at Sandra and smiled: "Are you alone?"

Sandra nodded. She felt her insides fluttering. You're a silly little twit, she thought. Yes she was. Another few minutes of this and she'd be wetting her pants. How ridiculous. She was more aware than ever of her tight dress, of the way her breasts were emphasized. Of course the V-neckline showed cleavage. You're a slut, she thought. Well, perhaps she wasn't a slut, but she certainly felt like it.

They talked, idle chatter about the place, the noise, the weather. Then Jen excused herself, walked away and soon returned to say she'd found a booth for them. Sandra nodded and slid off the stool, held Jen's hand as they walked across the room to a snug little booth for two. The curved bench was small enough so they had to sit beside each other with their thighs touching.

Again they talked. Jen wanted to know everything about Sandra, and she smiled with approval when Sandra revealed she taught at a university. "You're damned attractive," Jen said, almost out of the side of her mouth. It sounded a bit affected, but it thrilled Sandra. When Jen put her hand on Sandra's thigh, Sandra did not object. When Jen turned Sandra's face toward her and kissed Sandra's lips, Sandra accepted it. "I'm going to make wild love to you," Jenn whispered in Sandra's ear. "Where would you like to go? My apartment isn't far from here."

Sandra realized this was her opportunity. They hardly knew each other, but yes they would make love. She would yield to this dream lover. But why not suggest they avoid the usual?

"Do you have a car?" Sandra asked.

"Yes."

"Let's take a ride to the country."

"Now?"

"Yes, why not? It's not too late and I'd love it. It's a balmy night and we'll neck under the stars."

Jenn looked at her a long moment and then smiled. "I think I'm about to be an actor in someone's fantasy."

Sandra blushed. "Is that too awful? I'll adore you for it."

"Well, I like being adored, don't I?"

They walked out with Jen's arm around Sandra's waist, and thirty minutes later Sandra completed her agenda. Jen had her under the stars, against a tree like Deneuve in that Bunuel film, Sandra's black knit dress raised to her hips as Jen's fingers plunged again and again into both openings while her mouth covered Sandra's mouth. What magical fingers Jen had. Her thumb tortured Sandra's clitoris as the other fingers vanquished her vagina and anus. Deep, deep, marvelously deep. Deep, deep, I love it deep. Sandra groaned. "Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me hard." Such animality. Later they would go to Sandra's apartment. Meanwhile she pumped her sex and ass against Jen's long fingers and came hard again and again. What a thrill it was. Under the stars with her dream lover.



Dykescapes X



What she liked was a woman's arms that showed defined rounds of shoulders and biceps, a hint of muscle, the same in thighs and legs, a body at the same time sleek and dynamic, restrained in its energy. She had known such a woman only once in her life, a girl she had met while a student at Wellesley, an athlete, but the girl had been a senior while she was only in her second year, and after their brief interlude the girl had graduated and vanished from her life. Now, nearly twenty years later, all she had of this girl was a memory burnished and reworked so many times, she was no longer certain what had been real and what was her fantasy.

Her name was Claudia, and as she sat near an open window looking out at the Piazza Barberini in Rome, her thoughts were not of the past but of the present. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom. She could hear the traffic in the square, the automobiles, an occasional shout from somewhere, sometimes even the faint sound of music from another open window. In the bathroom was a girl named Deirdre, a slender blonde with an angelic face, a former student in one of her classes whom she had met in Firenze and taken to her bed.

Now they were in Rome together. She enjoyed Deirdre immensely, but for Claudia it was merely a transient lust, while for Deirdre it was apparently something else. It had become evident to Claudia that Deirdre was completely infatuated with her. Deirdre talked constantly about love and romance, and about how she would do graduate work in one subject or another in order to be near Claudia, who could not imagine Deirdre as an interference in her settled life. But Claudia was torn because she'd had no lover in some time, no one as physically stimulating as Deirdre, no one who excited her as much, even if she felt no real love for Deirdre and even if Deirdre was not her physical ideal.

A quandary, Claudia thought, as another horn sounded down below in the square. She had to decide whether to remain in Italy another few weeks and return home with Deirdre as Deirdre expected, or break it off now and return home alone.

Claudia never liked personal quandaries; she liked to be on firm ground, to have a personal life with the certainty necessary to keep herself focused in her work.

At that moment two things happened: Some crazy Italian shouted a remark about Pagliacci out of a nearby window, and at the same moment Deirdre came gliding out of the bathroom wrapped in a large white towel, hair and feet wet and adoration in her eyes.

Claudia turned in her chair, turned from the window still attempting to translate in her head the Italian's words about Pagliacci, turned to Deirdre, looked at Deirdre's wet feet, then looked up at Deirdre's angelic face. 

"The floor isn't clean," Claudia said.

Deirdre gave Claudia a conspiratorial smile, approached close enough so that her legs touched Claudia's knees, and said, "I thought about you in the shower."

"Oh?"

"Well, you know, I thought about you."

And she waited, wrapped the towel more tightly about her torso, and smiled again.

Claudia decided that whatever the Italian had said about Pagliacci was likely to be trivial. She had never liked that opera anyway. Too overtly emotional, as though the point was to get you to fall down in tears in front of the stage. Laugh, clown, laugh. Well, never mind that now, she had a confection here in front of her, an entire strawberry shortcake.

"Did you really think about me?" Claudia said, and before the girl could answer, Claudia had her hand inside the towel between Deirdre's legs, her hand quickly rising to Deirdre's source, where her fingers dipped into the wet to give Deirdre what Deirdre expected.

Years ago, a thousand years ago it seemed to Claudia, she had been with a woman in a room somewhere (was it East Hampton?), the woman seated in a chair with Claudia standing at the woman's knees, the woman tickling the insides of Claudia's separated thighs and then at last pushing her fingers into the wet of Claudia's cunt as Claudia closed her eyes and groaned her pleasure. Now, so many years later, it was Claudia herself in a chair, and another girl standing before her to be probed by fingers and knuckles.

Fingers and knuckles in the mouth of the cunt, the ball of her thumb at the clitoris.

Fingers and knuckles In the mouth of the cunt The ball of her thumb At the clitoris.

Claudia had written those lines in her adolescent diary the first time she'd seen a notorious painting of two women by Leonor Fini, except in the painting, one woman lying with her legs open while the other woman sat between the reclining woman's thighs, the seated woman's hands were on the other's knees, only her eyes penetrating the exposed sex. Claudia had imagined the next moment in the painting and then wrote the lines in her diary.

That stupid diary, Claudia thought. She had dropped it into a trash bin years ago with the vague hope that some girl would find it and have an epiphany. Of course it was more likely rats had eaten the diary and suffered indigestion from the purple ink she'd used.

Meanwhile, she worked her fingers in Deirdre's cunt, fingers and knuckles in the vaginal mouth, and stroked Deirdre's clitoris with the ball of her thumb.

And soon Deirdre did the expected thing, she closed her eyes and groaned.

Claudia felt the wetness in her palm.

With a final delicate shudder, Deirdre opened her eyes and gazed down at Claudia. "You're so wonderful," Deirdre said.

Aroused by the feel of the girl's juices on her hand, Claudia tugged at the towel. "Away with this."

Deirdre glanced at the open window and laughed. "Someone will see me." But she released the towel from her body and dropped it to the floor to show herself naked to Claudia.

Small breasts, full pink nipples, no belly at all and only a suggestion of blonde hair on the pubis. A dancer's body, a long brushstroke of seductive femininity. Not Claudia's ideal woman, but exciting enough in its youth and eagerness. Claudia stroked the body, slowly ran her hands over hips and breasts, smearing the juices in her palm over Deirdre's ripe young nipples. Then she made Deirdre turn and she slid both hands over the buttocks and upper thighs, then a finger up the crack of the ass to Deirdre's tailbone. Heavenly, Claudia thought. How else to describe the compact little ass of a blonde sylph like this one?

She made Deirdre turn again, her hand returning to the girl's cunt to gently stroke the labia on the outside.

Widening her legs, Deirdre bent forward. "I want to kiss you."

When their lips met in an open-mouth kiss, Deirdre ran her tongue over Claudia's teeth, then reached a hand inside Claudia's robe to stroke Claudia's heavy breasts.

The girl suddenly dropped to her knees in front of Claudia and pushed Claudia's thighs apart. "Let me," Deirdre said. "This is what I thought about in the shower."

Claudia gazed through the open window at the square down below. Why not? A mouth on her cunt at a window overlooking the Piazza Barberini. When she was too old for this, she would retrieve the memory out of the shadows and maybe feel the quickening again. Of course she would be more comfortable on a bed, but the moment always had to be grasped. She parted the lower half of her robe, slouched forward on the seat of the chair and opened her thighs wide. She had a patch of hair down there. She was far past her youth and she thought she would look silly with a hairless sex. Using the fingers of both hands, she opened herself to show Deirdre the wet groove and her thick clitoris.

With a murmur of approval, Deirdre leaned forward and covered Claudia's cunt with her mouth.

Claudia sighed and again looked out the window at the square. A flock of pigeons circled over the Fontana del Tritone, a continuous fecal bombardment their commentary on the Renaissance. Italy was such a wonderful place. Where else could she have a girl's nose buried in her cunt while she watched a dozen birds shitting on Bernini?

Deirdre was not an amateur at foraging in the furrow, although she had admitted to Claudia that she had no experience with women Claudia's age. One of the advantages of age, Claudia thought, her eyes leaving the square and the pigeons to look down at the top of Deirdre's blonde head. When you reach a certain age, it's the motherly aspect that excites them, the cunt ripe and thick- lipped, the breasts heavy and pendulous, the prominent nipples demanding to be sucked. Claudia knew all about it; Deirdre was not her first sylph.

When Claudia came, she took her own breasts in her hands and groaned at the sharp pleasure that fanned out from her cunt to warm her chest and neck. Yes, it was good. The circuits were still functioning. One would think cunt and clit would wear out after all these years, but the orgasm was still as electric as ever.

Her clitoris now too sensitive, she gently pushed Deirdre's head from her belly and urged the girl to come on her lap. Deirdre quickly did so, always eager to be in Claudia's arms.

Unable to resist the tempting candy of Deirdre's pink nipples, Claudia took a girlish tit in her mouth, sucked it briefly, then sucked the other, then finally pulled her face away from Deirdre's breasts and sighed.

"Listen, darling," Claudia said, "I've decided I'm leaving you here and I'm flying home tomorrow. I know it's not what you want, but I do think it's better this way. It's been lovely, hasn't it? But if we try to carry this home with us, it won't work. It really won't work."

Deirdre seemed stunned, frozen on Claudia's lap, her eyes locked with Claudia's.

Then Deirdre spoke in a quiet voice. "Then it's over?"

"I have some money I can give you, so it's not as though you'll be stranded without me. You have your ticket to New York. Stay here another two weeks, or go to Naples if you want. But I think Rome would be better for you." Then she added: "Darling, you're so young, you'll have a hundred women running after you before you're even thirty. You don't need to be attached to someone like me, not at this point in your life."

Deirdre remained silent, immobile, only her eyes veering away from Claudia's to stare at the far wall. Finally the girl slid off Claudia's lap, walked naked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Claudia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes again. She looked down at the Piazza Barberini once more. The pigeons were still there, still circling over the Fontana del Tritone, still shitting on Bernini.

End